


An Austrian Love Story

by Adiaphory



Series: Austrian Tales [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Austria being prissy, Austria is a horrible person, Austria's POV, Austria/Austria, Crack, Dark Humor, M/M, POV First Person, Possibly OOC, Post-Divorce, Weird, Yaoi, non-explicit blow job, not really explicit sex, self-censored, selfcest, vaguely written sex scene, what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adiaphory/pseuds/Adiaphory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Austria has a one-night-stand with the mystery man he finds playing his piano at three in the morning.</p><p>[Includes some dark humor regarding Germany and a certain Nazi past]</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Austrian Love Story

Hello. It is I, Austria. This is my story of lost and unrequited love by the only man who will ever understand me. Ah, but let me begin where all stories begin: somewhere last week, I don’t know. I was busy and didn’t keep track.

It was an average Tuesday, which entails my naggy roommate whining at me to _get a job_ or to _do some housework_. He still doesn’t understand that I don’t do such menial tasks. Oh, how I miss when I had Italy to scamper around the mansion with his push-broom and clean while I performed masterpieces at my piano.

I’ve since had to move from my place and stay temporarily with Germany. He is a _nightmare_ to live with! I am nobility and he had the _nerve_ to ask me to take the trash out!

“Do I look like Italy to you?”

“What does that even mean?” he scowled.

“It means I am a nobleman and I don’t perform such tasks! I play piano!”

“YOU CANNOT LAZE AROUND MEIN HOME AND PLAY THAT DAMN PIANO ALL THE TIME. I’ve been getting noise complaints since you moved in! How do you even get noise complaints from PLAYING A PIANO?!”

I looked away, not wanting to look him in the eye anymore. He glared at me and pressed on.

“Austria,” he said lowly. “How. Did. You. Get. Noise complaints?”

I mumbled something so incoherent you’d think I had no tongue.

“AUSTRIA.”

“Look,” I snapped, “I am an artist! If my muse happens to come to me early in the morning then it is my obligation as a gentleman to follow her and do as she says! Besides, three o’clock isn’t _that_ early.”

The vein in Germany’s forehead bulged and his left eye started twitching.

“What, are you having a stroke or something?”

“YOU GOT UP AT THREE IN THE MORNING TO PLAY PIANO?! AND WHAT ‘MUSE’? YOU ONLY PLAY CLASSICAL MUSIC, YOU DUMMKOPF!” Tea sets and vases shook on their pedestals as he screamed in a full-on German outburst.

“Are you mad because you ripped another pair of boxers?” I asked. Surely he wasn’t mad at me creating such beauty at the dawn of day. In fact, I should be thanked for this, not screamed at. “Because I found another pair of your underwear in the trash. I already patched it up. How you rip your underwear along the back is a mystery to me—well, maybe not totally—”

“SHUT UP,” he cried, face flushed and looking flustered. “You have no right to go through my things, _my underwear of all things_!”

“You said to take out the trash. So I took some trash out of the bin. You’re so wasteful. I remember when you used to use every part you found, making those nice lampshades and bars of soap…”

Oh no. His face is even deeper in color and he was having a great deal of trouble restraining himself, it seems. He jerkily turned away and grabbed his jacket as he stomped to the door. “I’m going to the bar,” was all he said before he slammed the door shut behind him.

I will never understand that man. He gets mad over the smallest things! He should appreciate me being here, fixing his boxers and salvaging valuables in the trash! And I somehow still find time to play beautiful music for all to hear. Ungrateful is what he is.

And so I spent the next few hours doing whatever I could find to do. I already mended all of Germany’s torn clothes and played the piano until I chipped a nail. I figured I’d so some personal spring cleaning until it was time to eat. The door to my temporary room was heavy and required me to slam into it with my shoulder to get it to pop open. Such tasks are below me, but Germany is gone and I have to go without him.

My room was full of cardboard boxes that sat with the already-furnished layout. Germany said not to bother unpacking and I’ll be gone soon, but it’s been a month and I’m ready to make myself at home. A small box sat on top of my (Germany’s) dresser. I glanced at it, marking it to be my first one to unpack given the easily small size. The top flaps were folded into one-another and bent awkwardly as I forced them back open.

I frowned. I forgot that this was the box I kept my life with Hungary in.

Inside was an old framed photo of us, the glass cracked and covered in dust. Then there was a small album filled with us and even some old sketches and black-and-white blurry photos of young Italy and Holy Rome. Flipping through the pages I found the first image of Italy after Holy Rome’s death. It was a Christmas photo we took together, looking somber to have our first Christmas without him.

Underneath the album were more small items. An old bandana Hungary use to wear, Italy’s bronzed baby booties, my old glasses, and a music folder. It was yellowed and torn at the edges and held together by paperclips and tape. I gently opened it, finding old music sheets in the left pocket and in the right pocket—

Our divorce certificate.

I placed the folder back and closed the box again, only taking out the bronzed booties. Surely Germany would want to see these, he does have a weird somewhat-sexual relationship with that boy. Neither of them will admit to anything but _come on_. I’m Austria! I can see how weird they get together with the strange cheek-kissing and hugs and sharing of the food and friendship promises. Those two are gayer than I am.

Ah, young love.

The plaque of baby shoes clinked against the dresser as I separated the items and placed the smaller box in the back of Germany’s guest closet. Heh.

This is just _great_. Now I’m too sad to clean. So I spent the rest of my day eating and filing my nails.

The bed I was given was comfortable and big, as if for a soldier. It was nearly midnight and Germany was still not home. He’s probably still out drinking (hopefully not with Prussia, those two together and drunk is fatal). Likely concentrating on how he can kick me out, possibly make me camp out in the yard like an animal. Who concentrates on camps? That boy is a military enigma.

Or maybe I’m just too noble and sophisticated.

Probably that.

The warmth of my blankets pulled me deeper and deeper into sleep until I was gone from this realm. Then some bitch-ass motherfucker woke me back up.

You don’t wake me up once I’m asleep.

I growled (showing the shared blood between me and that German fool) and turned on my side to face this night creeper who so intentionally woke me. But when I opened my eyes I saw no one. I blinked the sleepiness away and confirmed with my clock that it was only three in the morning. No doubt Germany stumbled in drunk and woke me.

I got up from my soft nest and padded out to the hall, ready to yell at him. The soft sound of music filtered in my ears and I raised an eyebrow. Did Germany suddenly become musically literate when drunk?

What I saw next shocked me.

I followed the sound of Beethoven into the next room, a large sitting room with the piano I so cherish. Sitting there on the bench was not Germany, nor was it his more-than-likely drunk brother. It was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His slender fingers easily and effortlessly found each key and struck with such grace that I felt a head rush coming. He sat perfectly straight and breathed elegance into each movement.

His hair was shiny and slick, his eyes thoughtful and clear; even his skin was perfection. I inched further into the large room, entranced by the music he made and wanting, needing, _craving_ more of him and more of his sounds. The song played on as my thoughts bubbled up and popped within my mind. This man was nothing and everything. He was elegant, cool, sophisticated. And my, did I love _sophistication_. The music stopped flowing but my mind was still wandering about this man. I almost didn’t notice him when he retracted his arms and finally turned to face me.

My God.

Our eyes met and I felt a spark of excitement and a sudden, crashing wave of _need_ fill me up from my cheeks to my… well, it’s not like a gentleman to say where exactly, but we all know where I mean.

_My penis._

This personified perfection stared me straight in the eye, as if I was nothing to him. Then he smiled, very slightly, and I knew I was in. He stood up, reaching for my hand to shake and I eagerly did so. We exchanged no words yet began a beautiful conversation.

My palm felt cold when he let me go, yet I felt like I was burning up all over. I never felt this way before—such raw passion for a person I only just met. Even at our best, Hungary and I never had this kind of chemical reaction, this attraction, this _desire_ to go above and beyond the universe. And, luckily, I had a feeling he felt the same for me. This Adonis, possibly the perfect man. No, definitely the perfect man.

Those beautiful eyes glinted in the moonlight and I remembered it was very early—almost four o’clock by now. He smiled at me and took my hand, and God were his hands soft for a pianist. I knew instantly what was happening as we left the big room and walked down the large halls and stopped before my door. It was still ajar from when I left, which I thanked my lucky stars for. The last thing I needed was my drunk and possibly hung-over roommate to barge in on what I know will be the best night of my life.

Once we were in my room he went to sit on my bed while I forced my back against the door until it slid back shut with the loud _whooshing_ of wood-on-wood. I turned back to see my companion, who was already down to his tight and accentuating pants. His crotch looked magnificent, the beige fabric over it was taut and tantalizing. He smirked when he saw where my gaze had landed.

“Didn’t take you for the gay type,” he purred.

“I just followed another man to my room at four in the morning, what else did you think? Come on. I’m _Austria_.”

He laughed for a second, and I felt pleased to make him happy. Everything I could do to make him feel any kind of joy was my mission. He was so deserving of the world.

It had been a while since I did… this kind of thing. Butterflies filled my stomach and threatened to fly free as I walked to him, perched on my bed like a statue. He opened his legs and grabbed my hips, pulling me to stand between them. His eyes were dark and glazed over. Mine were the same. Nerves forgotten, I reached down to pull my nightshirt off and he admired my body. I blushed at the new attention from such a godly creature.

He reached down and pulled my sleep pants off, tossing them aside. In an instant he had thrown me to the bed and was kissing me with the force and intensity of a thousand waterfalls. My boxers were a tent so sturdy it would take an army to take it down.

Or maybe just this man reducing me to a hot mess.

He stopped his movements and I caught myself whining like a child. He slipped his glasses off his nose and placed them next to mine on my one nightstand. He returned his gaze to me and I watched mindlessly as he slipped his pants off. His boxers were in a similar state to mine and the idea that I do this to him wasn’t helping my own tent.

And he does this to me as I do it to him.

My prince was on top of me once again, rubbing his groin against mine, eliciting moans from each of our throats. Low and deep and _manly_. I panted as he sucked my neck, harder, harder, _oh shit_. His tongue trailed down from my bruising skin and slid over my collar bone, down my pale chest, closer to the hot wire burning in my stomach. He licked around my one hip, exposed further when he callously pulled my boxers off. I was too dazed to even realize it was happening.

Then he took a mouthful of my piano and I could hear the angels crying above me as stars exploded behind my eyes. Good god, how did he know what to do with his tongue?! I am a gentleman, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also Austrian. I writhed and moaned and clutched onto the sheets for dear life. My hips moved on their own accord and when they began to buck about, my lover gently but firmly placed his own hands on them and held them still against the bed. He looked up at me in doing this and seeing this perfect man doing this to me almost made me lose it. Those big, bored brown eyes watched me until I threw my head back, unable to keep my usual cool.

Then he hummed and god did it drive me crazy. I’m an Austrian, damn it! I won’t lose my cool this soon!

Then he started swallowing around me and I let go. He lightly gagged, as if used to doing this. I panted and laid limp on the bed as he took me out of his mouth and wiped his saliva-dripping mouth. My lover hovered over me, smiling down with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Perfect brown hair framed his face like an angel and he slipped his own boxers off, finally joining me in total nudity.

And good lord was my tent back, watching him suck his own fingers above me. There’s something oddly sexy about him. He bent back down, fingers caressing my thighs while he simultaneously kissed me and entered me with one, two, _three_ fingers. He seemed momentarily confused why so many fit so soon but I shrugged and muttered, “I get lonely.”

He thrust his hand and curled his long fingers and suddenly I was crying and seeing stars. And this fucker _wouldn’t stop_. A spit-coated hand prepared his own naughty bits (so nice of him to not want to tear me open with friction) and he replaced his fingers with this thicker, longer organ.

And good lord was it big.

Immediately we were ready—none of that _no it hurts! Be slow! Be gentle!_ bullshit. I’m a grown-ass man, I know how to do this right. His thrusts grew stronger and faster and I wrapped my legs around his lithe waist while moving against him as well.

“FUCK ME,” I cried.

“I am!” he panted.

“FUCK ME HARDER,” I demanded. He complied.

My nails raked his back and left red lines. He should be happy I filed them today. My eyes screwed shut at all the building pleasure and taunting hits to my inner happy place. The room was filled with our echoing moans, becoming one. He balanced on one arm and used his other to grip me, rubbing harshly against my sensitive skin and leaking… ‘piano.’

We banged so hard and violently that the headboard was mimicking us, smacking against the wall until it took Italy’s booties from the dresser and crashing to the ground.

Then a scream. Who was that?

No, wait. It was me.

He followed suit and finished up, erupting his warmth into me. He rolled over, panting, while I tried to catch my breath as well. The afterglow was glorious and musky and warm. I looked over to find him already watching me.

“Good work,” he said casually.

I smirked back at his arrogantly sexy face. It was past five in the morning now and we both desperately needed sleep, so we rolled over and pulled the covers over us and embraced under the sheets.

“Don’t you want to get cleaned up?” he yawned. “Your sheets will… get dirtier…”

“I don’t do the laundry here, I don’t care,” I replied. Fuck Germany.

It was the most blissful sleep I ever had in my entire life.

The following morning I awoke to find myself alone in bed. I frowned. I never expected him to stay with me, and it’s natural he’d sneak out early… yet I couldn’t help but feel disappointment. And, dare I say, there was an oddly familiar twinge of pain in my heart.

I sat up, noticing my sticky chest (and I admit it was nice to know last night wasn’t all in my head), and headed for the shower. I finished up, dressing in my day clothes and walking out into the kitchen. I scoffed when I saw Germany sitting at the table, holding his head and a cup of coffee, his hair disheveled.

“Remind me never to go drinking with Prussia again,” he groaned.

“Aw, poor baby has a headache?” I mocked. He was ready to retort, despite his throbbing head, when we both fell silent and heard something unusual.

Piano music.

I smiled against my better judgment. So my nighttime visitor didn’t up and leave me after all. Germany sputtered, seeing me before him yet still hearing music form the other room. We both crept through the halls, stopping at the large room once more.

There, in all his glory, sat my prince. Dressed in his beige pants and loose dress shirt, glasses sliding down his nose and fussy hair exposing an extraordinary cowlick. He looked so at peace.

I would fuck him so hard if Germany wasn’t right there.

Meanwhile, Germany looked like he had seen a ghost. “HOW?!” he cried.

My lover stopped his music, turning to look at us. “What?” he questioned, irritated.

Germany was struggling with his words. “WHY ARE THERE TWO OF YOU?!”

Oh. Maybe that’s why I found this man so irresistible. Before me stood… _me_. Another, totally separate me. We all knew deep down that he was no long lost brother or doppelgänger. This was simply me. Two of me, both absolutely perfect.

And absolutely in love.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself.


End file.
